I Tip My Cap To La Hague - Lyndon Queripel

I tip my cap to La Hague
And the French government
I'm sure we'll be the first to know
In the event of any accident

I tip my cap to La Hague
It makes me feel so secure
As the sea weed turns to red
Washed up on Guernsey's shore

I tip my cap to La Hague
In complete satisfaction
Our coastal electric currents
Are the latest beach attraction

I tip my cap to La Hague
And nobody can deny
The benefits of nuclear neighbours
Now we've bigger fish to fry

I tip my cap to La Hague
It's boosted our tourist industry
People come from the World over
Just for the colour of our sea

I tip my cap to La Hague
Look up at the changing sky
Clouds are seen turning green
As they go on rolling by

I tip my cap to La Hague
The tide is very high today
And we've enough problems
With sewage in Belle Greve Bay

I tip my cap to La Hague
Turn around from where I stand
Stumbling on the crumbling rock
And slipping on the shifting sand.

Lyndon Queripel

Fire - Tony Bradley

I've taken a smooth dude, so cool, so sure
and hurled him into the flame
I've thrown a young girl angelic and pure
into a life of dirt and shame.

I've lured a housewife, from making pud
into perfume and slinky dress
I've broken a husband, so perfect, so good
leaving his world an awful mess.

I've driven a righteous father, drooling
for a girl, his daughter's age
I've left a middle-aged mother, gagging
for a rock star on the stage.

I've turned warriors and heroes into blubbering fools
made them slaves of their own desire
so beware, reader, lest I change your world, too
I am passion, I am lust, I am fire.

Tony Bradley

Lines - Richard Fleming

Where is the birdsong and why this spring no flowers?
And in the minutes after church bells ring,
why no departing rooks, this evening,
from the tall trees around the old churchyard?

Why have the fields become silent, devoid of grasshopper or bee?
Why are the fruit trees barren?
Why does the sea move sickly, like tar? How can it be
that the fishing boats come back empty each morning?

What has become of our summers
or the refrain of west wind in the chimney pots
or the fresh rain of spring mornings? Will the swallows return again?
Why are our rivers dry when there is so much weeping?

The seasons, which had soaring highs, then dipping lows before,
have now a dull monotony: they come and go unheeded:
one flat line running east to west and reminiscent so
of lines, on monitors, which signal that the heart is dead.

Richard Fleming
This poem appears in Richard’s second poetry collection, Strange Journey.

For further information go to http://redhandwriter.blogspot.com

The Early Morning View from my Balcony in Bulgaria - Elizabeth Fisher

The sky merges into the pale blue sea,
Tranquillity prevails.
Trees stand still and proud.
The houses blush under the early morning pale pink light.
Everything is peaceful
And the morning has arrived
With the not too loud twittering of birds.
Being on holiday is the best feeling...
Awareness of nature and life.
Why do we not always see this in everyday life ?

Elizabeth Fisher

Dreams - Julian Clarke

I saw you in my dreams last night
I reached out to touch your face,
My hand went through your skin
And then your image dissipates.
Like a reflection in the water
That’s broken by a pebble
The ripples go on forever
Like warm memories
Of a lost Lover.
The morning
Chased my dream
Away and there you
Were still sleeping, I lent
Over to kiss your face and
You smiled as you were waking.
The alarms shrilling ring-ring-ring
Was I really still dreaming, slowly,
Eyes opening, you were softly sleeping.

Julian Clarke